


OtherTales*

by phobiaDeficient (TheTriggeredHappy), TheTriggeredHappy



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AUs, Multi, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTriggeredHappy/pseuds/phobiaDeficient, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTriggeredHappy/pseuds/TheTriggeredHappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*alternatively titled; "My self-indulgent fics; the novel; the musical; the Movie; on ice"</p><p>A collection of unrelated short ficlets that I have nowhere else to put. Mostly self-indulgent garbage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mettaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mettaton is the king, Sans is his agent, and they have to put up with each other. Glambots and skeletons.
> 
> (I wanted to call this chapter Trash Shipping part 1 but that implies that I have plans to make a second one.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Basically this is where I'm going to post anything I write for Undertale that is self-indulgent and doesn't pertain to anything else in particular. Likely unedited and possibly posted at 2 in the morning. Individual descriptions found before each entry. Tags added as I go. Enjoy.
> 
> Kicking off the new year, we have the fixed up first draft of a Mettaton/Sans thing that I'm writing. Initially I wanted to scrap it, but I still like it sort of. Just not in concurrence with what I'm working on right now. So, have fun, I guess.]

  
"Sans!!!"

"What?!"

"Where is my hairbrush?!"

Sans groaned dramatically, getting up from his chair not far from the door to Mettaton's dressing room. "Mettaton, I don't know where your hairbrush is, and I swear if you lost it again I might have to strangle you," he said loudly enough to be heard through the door, hand on the knob. "I'm coming in."

"No, don't!" came the reply quickly, Mettaton's robotic voice almost panicked.

Sans paused. "What's the holdup!"

"I look like a WRECK, Sans, I can't be seen like this!"

"...I'm your agent. I'm pretty sure whatever the deal is, I either have or will see worse."

"Sans, don't you dare."

Sans dared.

Walking into the room, Mettaton yelped at him to get out, but Sans sincerely didn't understand what exactly was wrong. Mettaton was lacking his boots and his shoulder attachments were laying on the dresser, but neither of those things were new to him. The dressing room (most like a penthouse, really) was pretty neat, with an assortment of mechanical parts able to be seen in one opened drawer through which Mettaton was sifting as he walked in.

"Did you check in the drawers by the mirror?" he asked boredly, pointedly ignoring Mettaton's protests.

"Sans, I'm getting ready, you can't just barge in like this!" he said angrily, scowling.

"You look like your regular metal sexy self but without the shoulder things and the boots, there is, legitimately, not a single difference I can see other than that," Sans said dryly, hands in his pockets.

Mettaton arched a single eyebrow, expression turning sly for a few moments. "Is that your own special way of saying that I always look sexy, Sans?" Mettaton teased.

Sans realized his mistake and blinked, eyes falling, a blue tint lighting up his face. He cleared his throat. "You're an idiot, your brush is right over there under your shoulder pads," he said quietly, able to spot it from where he was standing.

Mettaton took the bait, getting distracted long enough for Sans to escape. "Oh, thank you darling, you... Oh. He left." Mettaton sighed, irritation making him close his eyes for a few seconds. "The one time he slips up and gives me a compliment, he gets away right after. This is unfair," he grumbled, moving to the mirror to brush his hair.

 

* * *

 

 

"Sans!" Mettaton practically sang, his eyes searching the crowd of people backstage all trying to clean up from the show. "Sans! That lazy little... The second I need him, every time without fail." He weaved his way through the small crowd, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to navigate back to his dressing room.

Sans was standing at the corner of one of the labyrinthian halls, eyes fixated on the ground, looking ready to fall asleep on his feet. "Sans!" He jolted awake, eyes flickering up to the robot quickly, alarm falling away into exasperation almost instantly. "I had the greatest idea during the show!"

"Do tell," Sans said, following behind Mettaton as he walked to his dressing room.

"Think of this: Guest stars! Once a week, on one of my segments, I wheel in a guest to be onstage with me! One week it might be a guard who I can battle with, all staged of course, really hurting a guard would be bad for publicity. The next week, someone to assist me in the cooking show! A week after that, perhaps a lineup of fans who can go on the quiz portion! Just try and imagine it with me, the possibilities are endless!"

"Yeah. Sounds great," Sans said, clearly not paying much attention. "This was the last show this week, so now you really need to get on track with signatures tomorrow." He stopped at Mettaton's dressing room door. "You go ahead and... do whatever it is you do, meanwhile I need to talk to people now about your public image and whatnot, and that'll be fun for everyone involved, I'm almost positive."

"Wait, Sans," Mettaton said, stopping him. "Before you do that, can you go and grab me a hamburger or something? I am absolutely STARVING."

"Since when do you eat real food, as opposed to motor oil laced with sequins?" asked Sans with a chuckle.

"Don't sass me, just do it," Mettaton sighed, and Sans picked up on how tired he really was just then. He dropped the sarcasm.

"Alright. I'll be back in a jiffy then," he said, turning to leave. "Nice work on stage today, try not to go into sleep mode before I get back," he called over his shoulder.

Mettaton went to reply, but Sans was gone.

"Why does he have to do that?" he sighed, eyes drooping as he tried to stay awake, ignoring the low power warnings that flashed in the corner of his vision.

 

* * *

 

"Sans!" Mettaton hissed, panic creeping into his voice. "What on earth are you wearing?!"

Sans looked down at himself. White shirt, hoodie, sneakers, black shorts. Nothing indecent enough to earn that look of horror... right? "Well, most people call these things here 'clothes'," he answered calmly.

Mettaton clutched at his head, groaning with exasperation. "This is a public Q&A session, Sans! You can't be wearing... That!" He gestured at the skeleton's whole body dramatically.

"...Okay, first of all, that's rude. Wow. Second of all, why does it matter? I'm going to be sitting behind a table. The most people will see is my shoulders up."

"It's the principle!" Mettaton paced slightly, and he looked at his watch stressfully. "It's too late to change, but... Ugh! Can you please try and wear at least a nice shirt next time?"

"Yeah, okay, sure," Sans said, ignoring the fact that he didn't even own a nice shirt. "You ready to go on yet? I think people are waiting for you now."

He shifted on his feet, ran his fingers through his artificial hair, chewed on a metallic lip. "Yes. I'm ready. Let's go ahead."

As they walked onstage to the cheers of the crowd (mostly for Mettaton, obviously), Sans murmured quietly, "Not like anyone will even notice me while you're standing on stage."

Mettaton wanted to say something, but he instead had no choice but to sit down at the center of the table with a microphone, Sans taking the less conspicuous, darker, and mic-less seat a few feet away, mostly just there for show, ironically enough.

 

* * *

 

 

"Sans?"

Mettaton gently shook his agent's shoulder, eyes wide in concern. The skeleton shivered in response, eyes clenched closed, teeth gritted, whatever nightmare he was having clinging to him tightly. He was shaking badly enough that Mettaton could hear his bones rattling. It wasn't odd for Sans to randomly fall asleep at desks or just sitting in chairs, but it was strange that he would ever sleep in one place long enough to have nightmares.

And he wouldn't wake up.

"Sans," Mettaton said again, bumping his shoulder firmly. "Sans, get up."

He was shaking, his breathing seemed uneven, his fingers twitched.

"Sans!"

His eyes stayed closed.

"Sans!"

He shot up with a yelp.

In a moment, his arms wrapped around himself, his eyes were wide, his pupils were gone. He pulled his knees up to his chest, his trembling beginning to die down. He blinked, and there were the pinpricks of light again. He looked up and spotted Mettaton. He looked around and noticed where he was. He had fallen asleep on the couch in Mettaton's dressing room while he'd been busy with the show. That was around noon. It was dark outside now.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, avoiding the elephant in the room for the time being.

"At least seven or eight hours," Mettaton said. "Are you alright?"

Sans chuckled, but it was hollow. "Just, y'know. Nightmares. Usually I just sleep for an hour at a time, but... Heh. Yeah. Didn't mean to s-nap at you."

Mettaton blinked at the joke, still looking worried. "Will you be okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Seeing you brought me to reality pretty fast. I'm all good."

Mettaton tried to read into that comment, but couldn't. "If... If you want to stay the night in here, I won't try and stop you, you know," he offered.

Sans pondered this. He shifted. His smile didn't move, but his eyes told Mettaton that he was a little conflicted. He breathed in. Breathed out.

"Sure. If it's cool with you, I mean," he said.

Mettaton simply nodded.

"Uh... Yeah. Thanks." A pause fell. "I'm going out to get some food, you want anything?"

"Just the normal." Mettaton realized that there had become a 'normal'.

"Figured. Be back soon." Sans waved over his shoulder as he left.

Mettaton waved back, and as the door closed, he felt the slightest twinge of disappointment in his chest. He wondered what he should do until he got back.

Wait a second.

Oh no. Ohhhh no. This was... This was not good at all.

He had a crush.

...

He really wished he hadn't seen this coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I refuse to stick to an update schedule with this. Eventually I'll post something. Have a nice day. I love you all probably.]


	2. What is love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (baby don't hurt me)
> 
> Alphys really hates feelings, and tries to approach her fascination with Undyne from a logical standpoint.

 

Alphys tapped her pencil against the edge of her desk.

It wasn't that she was really all that... y'know, nervous and all. She was trying to be really cool-headed about all of this emotional garbage. At the very least, she hadn't yet just decided to binge watch an emotionally destructive anime to try and ignore her real life problems, so clearly she was doing well so far, right? She looked down at the blank piece of paper.

Okay, where to start with this...

She drew lines and cut the paper up into a chart, three by however many she wanted. She chewed her pen for a moment. Okay, what were the big areas?

She wrote in the boxes a total of six categories. Infatuation, appreciation, overall long-term interest, aesthetic admiration, personality, and chemistry. Right. Okay.

At this point in time, Alphys had decided that the only way to sort out her emotions was to treat it like she was monitoring a patient, or logging data on a test. She couldn't just wade through her brain to try and figure out her emotional state. It was easier to just think of it as... Putting her thoughts in clean little boxes. Then they didn't seem so giant and scary.

Now just apply that to figuring out if you just have a crush on Undyne or if it's worse than that. Can't be THAT hard, right? Hahaha... Ha.

She looked at the first box. Infatuation. Okay. Did she like Undyne as an individual, or did she like the idea of Undyne? Being able to say "Me and Undyne are together" sounded pretty nice. But she more liked the idea of being around her. Maybe the few times they'd been around each other to watch anime and eat junk food had been... Nerve-wracking occasionally. But really, it was great when it was great. At its worst, all it had really been was mildly awkward on both their parts. She liked being around her. She was passionate, and sincere, and didn't beat around the bush, and was confident, and... Yeah, not infatuation. At least, not anymore. She but a line in the column marked with an X.

Appreciation. Yeah, she could appreciate Undyne. She was really cool, she really went out of her way sometimes to go and see Alphys. She appreciated that she really did seem to think Alphys was cool. That was a line in the O column.

Long-term interest. Hmm. How long has she liked Undyne now? At the very least since that time at the dump, when she'd been standing at the waterfall, looking into the abyss, thinking about...

Nope, nope, stop that. No thinking about dark upsetting things. It's barely three PM. But really, Undyne had scared the living daylights out of her just showing up in full armor about three feet away and saying hello. How she'd snuck up like that, Alphys might never know. But then they'd introduced themselves, and Undyne made some joke, and Alphys had laughed, and she'd somehow ended up talking about how Mew Mew 2 was complete garbage compared to the original Mew Mew, and Undyne knew nothing about them (of course she didn't, because hardly anybody did), and Alphys went into a tangent...

Long story short, ever since then, Alphys had at least been interested in Undyne. It wasn't until a few weeks in that she started thinking about the possibility of her and Undyne being a thing. Check mark in the O box. Alphys felt old suddenly, thinking back to all that time ago.

Aesthetic admiration. Hmm.

Check in the O box fast enough that Alphys might've felt ashamed for herself in more circumstances. But really, who wouldn't swoon over that? Like damn.

Personality... Man, where to begin. So much passion in everything she did, never going halfway, always following through with every action, every thought. Stubborn to a fault, braver and stronger and more valiant than Alphys could ever comprehend. She'd actually die for the Underground. She would fall dead to protect even a single monster. It was... Something Alphys never though she'd get over. God, she was perfect in pretty much every way. O box, with no hesitation.

Chemistry. She and Alphys... Got along surprisingly well. Alphys stuttered where Undyne bellowed, Undyne charged in where Alphys calculated. Alphys pulled Undyne intellectually, Undyne pulled Alphys socially. They both, when they were on their game, had a lot of fun talking and gushing over anime... Erm, 'human history'...

That makes for all O's but for a single X. Alphys considered this for several moments, before promptly, calmly, thoroughly banging her head against her desk.

She was so, so fucked.

 

* * *

 

 

(If Undyne found this sheet of paper one day months later when she came to visit and marathon Mew Mew, excluding the second because it was SHIT of course, then Alphys absolutely 100% did not 'squeak' and 'dive like someone had dropped a baby' to grab it. Undyne was willing to drop the subject after Alphys turned a type of red never before seen by a living thing, but Alphys learned to keep her personal papers off of her desk from then on. Maybe she should get a lockbox. Or a fire pit... Oh, wait. Hotland. Duh.)

(This is what love does to people, and she really wished it wasn't worth it.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i need to take a break from illness-related fics. I might need to make a whole new folder for this trash I've compiled.
> 
> Also, forgot to mention last time, feel free to yell at me about stuff you wanna see. I'm working on a Papyton thing right now that someone asked for. It keeps me busy! Later scrublords]


	3. Open Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Look up to the skies and siiiiing...)
> 
> Sans wishes he could forget. He wished he could let go.
> 
> But he does not regret.

Just open your eyes.

Sans felt something crawling between his shoulder blades, and blades clawing into his shoulders, and he couldn't scream. He was terrified. He was mad with panic and agony. He was bored. He was calm.

This is a dream. You are asleep. Just open your eyes.

He thrashed wildly, trying to fend off whatever was trying to hurt him so badly, and his head was ringing as screams echoed around him in the darkness, and he couldn't understand them, he didn't know what was going on. He thrashed and thrashed. He couldn't move at all. He was already as good as dead. He wished he could just die already.

The world melted around him, peeling off like ribbons, or perhaps dripping away, or maybe shattering or burning up or sliding out of his way.

He was awake.

He felt that he was shivering, and he did nothing at all. Blackness.

Just open your eyes. Open your eyes and look out the window. You'll see Snowdin and you'll be back to loops like normal. You're not going to see the Surface outside. The kid's gotta send us back eventually, and that day is today. It's over.

He opened his eyes. Just look out the window, you can at least do that. The ceiling was better than the truth. Just look out the window. If he was in Snowdin he might scream. He might do nothing at all. Just look outside.

It was a beautiful day outside. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming. He could distantly hear, just a bit muffled, the sound of a child's laughter. Frisk was already awake. The clock told him that he had been asleep for fourteen hours. Satisfaction. Guilt. He still felt tired.

He sat up and the ache that filled his ribcage made him exhale slowly. "Alright. I guess tomorrow then," he said quietly. On his nightstand he saw that someone had left him a slice of pie. He didn't feel anything at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Toriel watched from the kitchen window as Frisk climbed the branches of the tree outside their new house. She watched carefully as Frisk reached the point where they had been told they weren't allowed to climb any further. They stopped and sat down on the branch, swinging their legs. She hummed happily and returned to cleaning up the kitchen.

She felt more than heard when Sans walked down the stairs. She had a very good sixth sense for that sort of thing, possibly a deep-seated maternal instinct that never went away. She didn't turn around, still wiping away at the counter calmly. Footsteps muffled by slippers on tile. That meant he wasn't particularly trying to sneak, if she had learned to read him at all. She waited for him to say something before she would point out cautiously that he had nearly slept through the whole day. It was already one PM.

"Hey, Tori," he said, and his voice was smoothed over as usual. "Is the pie your work or the kid's?"

She turned, and her smile was even, her voice gentle as always. He seemed to relax just slightly even before she spoke. "My work, it was leftover from what I baked yesterday."

"Cool. Thanks. I just thought I should ask... just tin case."

She laughed, as if she hadn't seen it coming, as if she'd never heard such a good joke before, and it was genuine. He laughed too, and she felt, as always, like it started just a second too late, ended just a second too soon, but she decided it was just part of what his deal was. Like Papyrus speaking loudly or Undyne being passionate all the time. Sans had an odd laugh.

"Frisk was asking earlier about perhaps getting a basketball hoop for the driveway," she hummed, returning to washing the dishes. "They've begun really enjoying sports. I'm glad that they're so active and healthy."

"Definitely not my doing," Sans joked, sitting down at the table. "Never broke a sweat a day in my life." Sans wanted to tell her that they'd fought him countless times.

"Well, perhaps Undyne is a good influence. She's beginning a job as a gym teacher in the fall." She put the plate to one side, beginning on the next.

"Never would've thunk it," Sans said with mild sarcasm. He wanted to tell her that Undyne killed that child that was sitting outside, over and over, until she died for the entire Underground, lived her final moments on sheer willpower alone before succumbing to deterioration.

"Has Papyrus found a job yet?" Toriel asked, looking over her shoulder at him briefly. He got his grin back up just in time.

"Nah, he's gotten a couple good offers though. He's almost done with his courses anyways, he'll get one when he feels like it. I'll support whatever he chooses." Sans wanted to say that the kid killed his brother, wanted to say that they killed everyone; everyone but him, her ex-husband, and that flower.

"I noticed that you stayed up late last night, you seem very tired," Toriel fretted. Sans knew that the dark circles on his eyes must be hellish.

"Yeah, just up thinkin' like usual," he lied easily. He wanted to tell her that he had been exhausted to the point of death by the time the kid had finally given up, given in, accepted his mercy, wanted to say that he had murdered them, wanted to say that he couldn't get the sound of that scream out of his head.

"Sans, are you alright?" Toriel asked flatly.

He looked up at her, and she had that Look she gets. The one she gets when Frisk comes home from school with a bloody knee and won't say where from. The one she gets when she catches Sans getting up from the dinner table without touching his food for the third day in a row. The one she gets when Papyrus tells her that all the people in his classes are calling him a "wise guy" and smiling at him a lot of the time and laughing whenever he says anything.

"Uh, wh... whatcha mean, Tori? I'm doin fine, just... y'know, tired and all," he said.

"Sans, I will tolerate you unscrewing the lid to the salt shaker, I will tolerate you putting hot sauce in the ketchup bottle, and I will tolerate you getting into a fight with a human when they teased your brother. But I will not tolerate you lying to me." She dried her hands on a towel before moving to sit down across from him. She took his hand gently. "Talk to me." And she was earnest, because she meant it, she really meant it.

He wanted to say that he had to watch Papyrus become best friends with the kid that killed him. He wanted to say that he had to let them walk past his sentry posts, over and over. He wanted to say that he was angry beyond belief; not because of what they did, but because he forgave them. He wanted to say that he would rather be dead than remember. He wanted to say that he wanted to be dead anyways.

"I'm just..."

He wanted to say that he was sorry for letting them get to her at all. He wanted to say that he hated the Surface, hated Frisk for making him live up here when they would just reset anyways. They would reset again soon, wouldn't they, they would put him through it all over again, just like all those times, all the times they killed one and spared another, found every combination of murder, found every ending there was to see. Watched as they tested just how far they could push before something broke.

"I don't..."

He wanted to say that he was the one that broke. He wanted to tell her that they'd never stood a chance against him. He wanted to tell her just how good it felt to beat them, over, and over, and over again, not holding back, letting his magic flow freely. He wanted to say that he felt not remorse for it, either, and that it was he only way. He wanted to tell her how the kid had hunted everyone down.

"It's not..."

He wanted to say that he didn't care anymore. He wanted to say that this time, at least he had the fortune of being allowed to give up. He wanted to say that he gave up so long ago, he can't remember anything else. He wanted to say that he was so sorry, because one of these days he knew his Hope would drop to 0, and that he would die of a broken spirit.

"I'm sorry."

He wanted to say so much more.

Sans ran away.

 

* * *

 

Frisk was the flower-kid at Undyne and Alphys' wedding. Papyrus opened a restaurant. Toriel opened an elementary school. Sans waited for Frisk to get bored again. Toriel never said anything, but she still worried about him. As the one-year anniversary rolled around, everyone reflected over dinner everything that they'd done since they left the Underground.

Frisk turned to him, asked what he'd done since he left. And his friends, his family, they turned to look at him, smiling, waiting.

And he thought hard.

The silence was oppressive. Waiting, waiting. Sans looked down at his plate, beginning to frown. Smiles began fading, glancing at each other, furrowed eyebrows, confused looks. He thought harder. Something. He had to have done something.

He thought about laughing it off. He could joke about being too lazy to do anything. Same stuff I did Underground, he could've said, but now elevated. He could've just smiled, taken a huge bite, shrugged.

"Sans?" Papyrus asked. He didn't dare look up.

"Uh, dude, you..." Undyne hesitated. "You look kinda sick, there. Are you okay?"

No.

"Are you alright?" Toriel asked, leaning closer to look at his face carefully. "You seem ill, was it something you ate perhaps?"

"I haven't done anything," Sans said. And everyone paused, because it wasn't a joke. He had slept. He had eaten. He had napped. He had talked to Papyrus about nothing important. He had nightmares. "I haven't done... Anything at all."

Alphys looking up at Undyne. "Y-you must've done, um, something, though, er... r-right? Anything."

"Nothing. I... Did nothing at all." And his voice was quiet.

Nothing matters anyways. It's all going to be reset.

"Are you okay, brother?" Papyrus asked, concerned, and oh no now Papyrus was concerned, not good, not good.

Sans stood up, leaving the table without another word.

 

* * *

 

 

"Sans."

The voice was soft. Sans didn't turn over, just stayed curled up in a ball, motionless in the center of the mattress.

"Sans, please."

He rolled over, pinpoints of light finding the child standing at his door.

Frisk gestured for him to follow before disappearing from view.

A few moments of weighing his options. He could follow, yes. Or he could lay in bed and do nothing important until he rotted and turned to dust. Equally appealing just then.

He stood.

They led him outside, and the cool night air hit him, making him inhale once, deeply. Frisk sat on the front steps, their eyes finding him and waiting. The street lamps were on, illuminating their circles of influence and absolutely nothing else.

He sat beside them. With one hand, they pointed upwards.

Sans hated the Surface. He hated the fakeness, the humans glaring at him, the humans treating him like he was a novelty, like he was a sideshow. He hated the fact that everyone bought into the 'everything is fixed forever' bullshit. He hated it.

The stars were pretty, though.

He wasn't sure how long he stared up into the sky like that. Minutes always tended to blend with him. Hours and seconds were constructs of consciousness. He didn't care enough to distinguish them these days. But he noticed a small hand on his shoulder and even now he resisted the urge to flinch from the contact.

"There. Now you've done something," they said softly.

Sans looked down at them, confused. "What?"

"You've done something now. You went stargazing. That's something you've done on the Surface."

He looked up at the stars again.

After a few minutes or hours or eternities, he looked back at Frisk. "Have you gotten your fill yet?"

"Hmm?" they asked.

"Of this? The... golden, everyone is happy thing. You all done? I'd like to know _before_ I avoid making any plans whether tomorrow's going to be on the Surface again, or if this is the last day."

Frisk said nothing for a few moments. "I found the real ending. I freed everyone. Why would I go back now?"

"I don't know. Why would you kill everyone?"

Frisk flinched. Sans felt not remorse. "I thought it would get me a different ending," they tried to defend. "And it wasn't my idea."

"It was, however, your actions. You did it. Maybe you didn't think of it, but nobody made you kill." They stared at their shoes. "Tell me, what do you think they would say if they knew what I knew? Do you think they would feel sorry for you? Do you think they could forgive all of the terrible atrocities you have committed? All of the sins that you forced, the dust that followed your every footstep? Do you think they would forgive all of that, if they knew, too?"

"You did," Frisk whispered.

The stars were impassive above them.

"And I hate myself for it," he replied.

Twinkling, shining, unmoving, simply dots on a black backdrop.

"It's not going to reset this time. I won. It's over. I promise."

Sans wanted to believe them. He really did. He wanted Papyrus to keep his incredibly popular restaurant, he wanted Undyne and Alphys to save up enough for that Japan vacation they had planned, he wanted to turn on the TV and see news about how wonderful the Mettaton Surface Tour was selling, breaking records, selling records at improbable paces, recordings being sold even faster.

He wanted to. But he couldn't just yet.

And maybe he never would. Maybe a thousand years would pass and he would be stubborn and patient, so incredibly patient, and he would wait for it all to end again. He would wait to wake up in Snowdin again, to make a promise, to see his brother die or live or it didn't matter which either way.

Maybe he'd already broken. He didn't mind.

He could wait this out. They wouldn't get the best of him. He wouldn't buy into this little game, this ruse to break his spirit. He wouldn't ever care. They couldn't force him. He was patient.

He could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Stress makes me write sad things. That... Explains a lot about my writing actually :/  
> But yeah prep for love stories with Singles Awareness Day coming up y'all! It's going to be off the chain hook.]


	4. The Kink Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans and Mettaton talk about kinks. For funsies.
> 
> (Featuring things that I have actually talked about with people because I have weird friends. Mentions of Mettasans because yeah)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I want you all to know that I have no shame about this.
> 
> Oh, written on mobile.]

 

It was unclear why exactly they had the conversation.

Mettaton couldn't say he didn't know how it started, because he did. Sans was the type that flirted less because he wanted to portray interest in someone and more because he thought it was funny. That being said, he would frequently make an innuendo out of absolutely nowhere just to see Mettaton sputter. He had the good sense to keep it when there wasn't a crowd of people listening, which Mettaton was grateful for.

It was rare that he would find chance to retaliate, and even more rare that it would work. Sans was quick on the uptake and could spin anything around on the dime if he chose to. Often when Mettaton managed to flip over a sentence into a good prod against him, Sans would twist it back around so he had the upper hand again.

He remembered once when Mettaton and Sans were in a meeting, Sans made a terrible joke, "These fans sure do seem to like him a Metta-TON". It wasn't the first time he made the joke, and it wouldn't be the last. Not terribly creative, but he could deal.

Mettaton had retaliated with "I've Metta lot of their standards, I guess", barely suppressing his own proud grin.

Sans started on the robotics puns in a flash, "Maybe it's because you're always hard driving yourself to be better", "It's because they know you're soft-ware it counts", "I feel like we've gone full circuit with these puns", "Wire you so mad, these are top notch jokes Metta".

After a few moments of everyone groaning, Sans leaned over to Mettaton and said with a grin, "Get on my level, buddy", a chuckle, before he went to turn his attention back again.

Mettaton saw the opening and took it. "You're too short, I would have to bend down to reach." Loud enough for everyone to hear. The "OHHH" that ran through the room made Mettaton smile triumphantly. But Sans was still grinning. Mettaton felt his smile drop when Sans chuckled. Oh no, because he could never win. The room looked at Sans as he laughed lowly, waiting for whatever he was about to say.

"C'mon, Metta, you already spend a lot of your time around me on your knees." The second round of "OHHH"s was accompanied by the sound of Mettaton falling out of his chair, positively mortified.

Only the fact that he was the king stopped the story from spreading through the entire Underground. He locked Sans out of his dressing room for three days.

He got used to dealing with these jokes pretty quickly, but after they began a more... Intimate relationship, he began worrying that someone would pick up on the undertones. He and Sans came to the unspoken agreement to not make dirty jokes in public anymore, just to be safe. While Sans was plenty equipped to handle annoying circumstances, it was abundantly clear that if it was revealed that the two of them were in a relationship, he would be harassed endlessly by jealous fans until the tension drove the two of them apart.

However, on the walk from the Resort to Waterfall to visit his cousin, accompanied by a Guard to show him there, him and Sans got into a debate about one of his shows. Sans was adamant that gossip and theories about things should stay off the news, but Mettaton thought an "opinions" section would help with making him seem more amicable to his subjects. When Sans ended off a short but oddly eloquent shpeal about misinformation with the phrase "Eat me, Metta", the glamboy just couldn't stop himself from replying with "Alright, if you're into that."

Sans didn't stutter in his walking, but his eyes snapped to Mettaton's face. The taller wore a sultry grin, staring straight ahead. A pause of silence followed and Mettaton expected him to change the subject.

"Not really into vore," Sans ended up replying, grin widening.

"What, you're just vanilla? Boring~!" Mettaton sang.

"Oh, please. Don't even start with me. What's the worst thing you're into?" Sans asked, raising an approximation of an eyebrow. Mettaton glanced at him, and saw he was smiling but still dead serious. Oh, this was quite the turn of events.

"Don't feel like getting kinkshamed today, Sansy, sorry," Mettaton teased. He glanced at the Royal Guard who was leading the way only two yards ahead of them. The muscular figure was most notably NOT looking behind him.

"Oh, come at me, you vanilla motherfucker," Sans chuckled.

"Stop with your memes, god damn it. Mood killer," Mettaton muttered. Sans laughed. "Alright, let's start with basic and work our way up. Bondage?"

"Child's play, come on." Sans rolled his eyes. "Vouyerism?"

"Oh please," Mettaton chuckled. "I'm a TV star. Of course I've thought about that."

"Hmm... Oral is just basic shit." Mettaton nodded. "Alright, power play?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed. "Both ends can be pretty fun. Oh, tell me, are you a dom or a sub?"

Sans went quiet for a second, glancing up at the guard. He lowered his voice to a deep baritone. "Tell anyone I'm a sub and you die," he muttered, cheeks dusted blue.

"Oh MY, Sans! You dirty skeleton! I never would've guessed!" Mettaton gasped, and Sans shoved his hands in his pockets. "Like I said, I'll go either way, really, but dom just sounds more fun, I suppose. Collars?"

"Fuck yes," Sans said, and Mettaton had to make a conscious effort to not imagine the scenario. Oh boy, just the idea of him having Sans on a leash... Nope, nope, bad time to get turned on, stopping that imagery right there before he needs to turn back around and drag him into bed because WOO BOY that sounded like a good time. "Breath play?"

"Goes with collars." Mettaton saw the guard's shoulders tensing and he suppressed the urge to laugh. "Exhibitionism?"

"We already said vouyerism, keep up." Sans tilted his head up, thinking. "Vore is off the list, because... No, gross. Ew."

"Agreed. Not much meat on those bones anyways." Mettaton murmured, and Sans chuckled.

"Foodplay?" he asked.

"Hmm... Not on my top ten, but certainly sounds fun if done right," he hummed.

"Oh, come on. You run a cooking show. You never thought of being bent over the counter and getting screwed senseless while being forced to scarf down your food?" Sans asked, and Mettaton suppressed a shiver of delight.

"And here I thought you were a sub," Mettaton replied.

"I'm saying that I'VE thought about it," Sans said, and wow was it hot in here. Wait, they were walking through Hotland. Duh.

"Dirty talk, presumably?" he asked, and it was asking more than just what it seemed like, he thought.

And Sans picked up on that, eyes shifting from the road in front of them. "Couldn't tell?"

Mettaton felt his face flushing, and he was sure his fans might break again. "Just thought it was worth asking," he murmured.

"Role play?" Sans asked.

"Never tried, but willing to," Mettaton shrugged. "I think we may've skipped right over BDSM."

"I've been known to have a bit of a streak. And by that I mean I don't have that much kinky sex but would really appreciate it," Sans said. Mettaton appreciated his transparency.

"Hmm... Can't think of anything else off the top of my head," Mettaton said slowly, tapping at his chin with one finger. "I think we covered plenty already. You got anything?"

"Nah. Just remind me after we're done here today, I'll try and think of something. Also, I think we're making our buddy here uncomfortable." The Guard fell out of step for a second, and the two shared a look of amusement.

"Sorry about that," Mettaton said to the Guard, voice smooth.

"No problem, your Highness, sir, no problem at all," the Guard said hurriedly, practically shaking in his boots. Mettaton stifled a giggle.

A few moments later they reached the end of the path into Waterfall, and the Guard passed them along to a different monster, wearing what seemed to be less heavy armor, built more on the side of lean. They exchanged a few words and they were on their way again.

The first part of this last leg passed mostly in silence. Waterfall was exceptionally pretty at times, so Mettaton wasn't at all bored by the quiet. Instead he thought back and pondered the fond memories he had of the place. He very quickly ended up just listening to the echo flowers as they passed.

"Oh, shit, thought of one," Sans said suddenly. "Orgasm denial. Kinda goes under power play, though."

Mettaton saw the Guard freeze for a moment, head tilting just slightly in befuddlement. He suppressed a grin. "I think that does tie into power play sometimes, but it is sort of it's own thing."

"Hmm. Semi-related to this conversation, what'dya think about threesomes?"

The Guard wasn't even pretending they weren't staring at that point. Mettaton made eye contact as he spoke. "I wouldn't mind, really. It's just more fun for everyone, isn't it?"

The Guard's head snapped back forward, and Mettaton was pretty sure they were sweating like mad. He glanced at Sans, giving him a sly wink. The skeleton grinned wider.

"Whoops, making another Guard uncomfortable now. We should really stop tormenting these poor kids with our sin," Sans said.

"You're the one who brought it up again, darling," Mettaton said, but his voice was more of a purr.

Sans shrugged.

(Two days later, Sans brought Mettaton a newspaper, stifling laughter, and there in bold letters was the headline "KING-KY". Funnily enough, nobody believed the article, passing it off as a joke.)

(Sans could testify that it was not a joke.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You may be asking yourself something, the burning question that I think we all have on our minds--and that question is, did you write this entire thing to make that shitty pun? And the answer is yes. Yes I did.
> 
> If I write kinky sex I'm gonna have to bump this up to an M rating, so, currently debating that. Hmm. Maybe later when I'll have time to go to church.
> 
> (haha who am I kidding I'm about to take over hell, come at me)


End file.
